


follow the yellow brick road

by mollivanders



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apocalypse, Crossover, End of the World, F/M, Gen, On the Run, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.</p><p>Oceanic Flight 815 touches down in Los Angeles without a hitch (and then the bombs go off).</p>
            </blockquote>





	follow the yellow brick road

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: follow the yellow brick road**  
>  Rating: PG-13 for implied ~activities  
> Characters: Sayid/Kate  
> Spoilers/Summary: This is a what if? AU of Oceanic 815 landing in Los Angeles just in time for the country to fall apart (i.e. the premise of _Jericho_ ).  
> Disclaimer: LOST belongs to _ABC_ , I own nothing.

Oceanic Flight 815 touches down in Los Angeles without a hitch (and then the bombs go off).

Edward’s thrown forward in his seat so hard his head cracks open against the plastic tray and the air masks drop down from the ceiling without warning. All around her, passengers are screaming, but in the midst of the chaos, Kate does what Kate does best – take control.

Her fingers fumble with the keys but she gets her handcuffs and legcuffs off so she can scramble past the marshal, fingers slipping in the blood left on the back of the seat. A man grabs her arm as she trips into the aisle, Southern drawl barely noticeable but still there as he says, “Careful there, Freckles.” She blushes and mutters “Thanks,” as she’s moved with the sea of passengers out of the plane.

 

The marshal is left behind.

 

She makes it to an emergency exit where the inflatable ramp is already extended and pulls off her shoes to slide down. An attractive man helps her up when she lands and she’s already looking for the source of the bombs.

Smoke fills the sky and faster than she’d have expected, Homeland Security officers appear on the tarmac, looking for the usual suspects.

“Come on,” she says in a rush to the man who helped her up, “we need to get out of here.”  
Courteous as he is, she doubts the government will see him that way, and in the worst case scenario they’ll be focused on him leaving, not her.

“I have to find my family,” he insists as he runs next to her. “My brother and his wife – they’re expecting me.”

 

She steals a car and he doesn’t ask questions (why or how she knows to do this is irrelevant now). Sirens are blaring across the city and the streets are packed with civilians who’ve left their office buildings to stare at the fires that have broken out.

He passes her a torn piece of cloth and helps her tie it around her mouth and nose. “For your protection,” he explains, and she ties one around him too. “We don’t know what’s in the air,” she hears him say, his voice muffled by the chaos as much as the fabric.

“We’ll have to take the back roads,” she replies and gets in the driver seat of the car. He doesn’t seem to mind, just points the way out to her.

 

Roadblocks keep appearing everywhere they drive and Kate’s ready to tear through them but the man points out that will draw attention to them more than anything. “Abandon the car,” he says. “We can take another later.” She’s traveled with him more than she’d planned and she understands there’s a risk he could be involved somehow, but she doesn’t have time for fear right now.

They go on foot once they leave the car behind a restaurant and suddenly Kate feels more vulnerable than she has in years. She’s walking down the street with an Iraqi man after a series of bombs have apparently destroyed downtown Los Angeles (and other cities too, from what the radio says).

As they walk, they watch several black unmarked vans speed down the streets with yelling coming from inside. She’s hardly surprised but refuses to think on it more (refuses to get caught).

When they reach his brother’s house, she stops and grabs her companion’s wrist, pulling him back (points to the black van sitting outside the house). “Wait,” she whispers, “I’ll go. I’m nobody.”

(Kate still remembers 9/11 and what terror did to this country the first time around.)

“Thank you,” the man says, but before she goes he tells her in a rush, “I am Sayid Jarrah – my brother is Omar.”

 

A knock on the door reveals a man in unmarked fatigues who looks like he’s seen actual war. 

“What do you want?” he barks at her, eyeing the street behind her. 

Privately, Kate thinks he lacks discipline, but she just says “I’m looking for an Omar; have you seen him?” She already knows the answer.

“Move along, lady,” the soldier retorts and moves to shut the door – but Kate sticks her foot in before he slams it all the way. “I have information on him,” she bursts out (the door opens). 

“Like what?” the man asks, marginally more interested.

“Above your pay grade,” she replies and moves to back away (waits for him to grab her arm). When he does she laughs and says, “or I can tell your CO and the press about this.”

The soldier scowls but pens a number on her hand and tells her to call with the information.

When Sayid dials the number from a pay phone, the Department of Defense picks up. They leave the phone hanging.

 

She steals another car once they’re out of town, all the while asking herself why she’s helping this man. At a Denny’s (too late to check the clock), he asks her the same question and she gives her best response.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” she says. Remembers a time not too long ago, in a bar, when a woman helped her for a not-so-different reason.

“I have to find them,” he says and downs his coffee (offers nothing else).

The lure of a chase is just as appealing to Kate as it is to the marshal so she opens up a napkin and draws a roadmap. “We saw the vans on our way out of the city; they’re all headed on the I-5 to the valleys. That’s where they interned the Japanese during World War Two.” She pauses. “We could,” she finishes. “If you want to.”

As they pull out of the diner, Kate doesn’t even notice the dark blue car following them, driven by a man with a bandaged head.

 

The bombs make everything harder – roadblocks, food shortages, curfews – and so Kate and Sayid pick up a new car every day, trying to find the old camps (or something new). It’s cold in the desert and takeout food gets old fast so they start raiding farm produce until Sayid stops talking. Kate knows the look (frustrated at going nowhere).

But at a farmer’s market stand out of Bakersfield they hear word of prisoners being transported out of state – across the country. It sounds like local gossip but a few days later they see military vans commandeering the roads (not that many other people are even out).

Kate lets Sayid take the wheel and figures maybe, if they go far enough, she’ll be back home in Iowa. Not that there’s much to go home to.

 

He keeps them off the road and drives slow, kicking up little dust, but Kate still thinks the soldiers have to know they’re there. Her father (not her father) would know. Sayid doesn’t seem to care; seems single-minded in his purpose to find his family again and for a moment Kate wants to hurt him for even having one, for wanting to be with them so badly in front of her when in the weeks they’ve been on the run together she’s never mentioned one.

 

A few nights after that, running low on water and breakfast bars, they find a prison camp.

It’s hidden in the middle of a farm, tall cornstalks shielding the prisoners from sight (and yet so obviously nobody would even guess). “The family probably needs the money,” Sayid rationalizes to her and she merely watches him, wondering what his next move will be. What price he’ll demand.

 

He breaks into the camp while she’s sleeping – she wakes to her own screams when a pair of hands closes over her throat.

“You tried to kill me,” the marshal curses as she struggles in the back of the car, thrashing around with nobody to see or hear. “You’ve had enough chances, Katie,” he mocks as her windpipe closes and she starts to see black spots.

She manages to kick him in the head (an old wound) before she blacks out too.

 

In the morning, she realizes he’s dead when she sees the body sprawled motionless on the dirt and watches Sayid quietly go through his pockets. “What happened?” she croaks as a greeting. She didn’t hit him that hard.

“When he woke up, he tried to kill you again, and then he saw me,” Sayid replies and stood up. 

“Roasted corn?” She takes the hot breakfast gladly. “Are you okay?” he asks this time and she sits up too quickly, swinging her legs past the open door to hang over the seat as she clutches her head.

“He was in the seat next to me,” she says quietly. “Did you find your brother?”

 

(What the rumors among farm folk didn’t tell was that the government wasn’t spending money on keeping prisoners this time around. 27 American cities attacked, millions believed dead, and more dying from plague and lack of services.

There were no prisoners, only traps. And now, dead soldiers.)

 

“Where will you go?” she asks as they drive in no particular direction. 

“I should leave this country,” he answers and pulls out the map. “How far is it to Canada?”

 

The trip would normally take four days but under the circumstances – no gas stations, fewer cars with gas to steal, and soldiers patrolling every highway – Kate and Sayid decide to go on foot. “I’ve never been to Canada,” she says conversationally as she sticks her thumb out (old habits). “You?”

“It never held any interest for me,” he says, ever serious. She rolls her eyes and jabs him in the side. “Lighten up, Sayid. Learn to live a little,” she teases.

“What for?” he asks, but a ghost of a smile crosses his face as he looks at her. It’s as close to a joke as he’s ever made.

 

Normally, there would be romance; normally, the fire would be for show and not for heat; normally, they’d move closer for pleasure and not to hide from soldiers. But Kate doesn’t know how Sayid would normally act so when his mouth skirts across hers she freezes for a moment until his hand finds her shoulder (her leg finds his hip). There’s no hotel manager to explain to, no neighbors listening through thin walls, and afterward she points out the stars.

She leaves out the part where she’d use them to find her way, back when she was on the run, but he listens to that part all the same.

 

They make it to Canada, at last, and Sayid walks across without a doubt (looks back over his shoulder to where Kate’s still standing). 

“I don’t think I can go,” she says, fear finally blooming in her chest. “I can’t leave.”

Nothing changes; she’ll always be on her own. They never would have worked out.

He steps back over the border, doesn’t bother to check for border guards (ever watchful now with a new kind of fugitive crossing over). Instead, he takes her hand, kisses it, and before he drops it she reaches for his face and kisses him, softly but purposely.

“You taste like strawberries,” he says when they break apart. “I’ll remember that.”

“Goodbye, Sayid,” she answers and lets him go (she doesn’t cry, not ever). Watches as he disappears past the tall grass and then faces toward east. 

Even if there’s nobody waiting for her, there’s no place like home.

_Finis_


End file.
